


Self-Image

by arcaneScribbler



Series: Player Count 8 + 2 [4]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: AR was totally a little shit even before he was a brain-clone, Everyone lives, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, If you get a bit of an uncanny valley feeling as the conversations go on I'm doing something right, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Quests, Strider Family, because things aren't supposed to add up, formerly speech-impaired Dirk Strider, human-cyber hybrid Lil Hal, it's sort of as if they're in a Dream Bubble reenacting a memory, post-victory, sassy Cleverbot-esque AR, takes place between chapters 2 and 3 of Session: Auto-Balance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2365637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcaneScribbler/pseuds/arcaneScribbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You step through the door—</p><p> <em>A young man sits in his bedroom, bickering with an experimental AI.</em></p><p>Your name is AUTO-RESPONDER(?) and YOU HAVE VERY RECENTLY(?) BECOME SENTIENT.<br/>Your name is LIL HAL STRIDER and YOU ARE NOT SBURB'S FUCKING PLAYTHING, DAMMIT.<br/>Your name is DIRK STRIDER and YOU THINK YOU MIGHT BE ABOUT TO THROW UP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Image

**Author's Note:**

> **Note for readers using a mobile device:** Some of the letters I use for 'static-text' don't seem to show up on my phone, and my fics often contain hover-text, so it may be better to read this on a computer. Sorry for the inconvenience!
> 
> This fic occurs between chapters 2 and 3 of Session: Auto-Balance. I'm pretty sure they can be read independently of each other, but this one might not make sense unless you've read The Fifth Noble.
> 
>  **EDIT 9/28/2014:** Did a little bit of tweaking as usual.  
>  **EDIT 9/29/2014:** Switched Hal's speech to static-mode and added hover-text in case it's difficult to read.  
>  **EDIT 10/1/2014:** More tweaking.  
>  **EDIT 10/13/2014:** Tweaked the summary a bit. Also added hover-text for what was actually said the first time these conversations occurred up to the point where AR officially became a Dirk Splinter. Lines that differ from their original counterparts have underlining up to " **===== > Auto-Responder: Question Apparently-Remorseful Creator.**", from which point the conversation diverges entirely.  
>  **EDIT 10/15/2014:** More tweaking. Rephrased a bit; added some lines.  
>  **EDIT 10/16/2014:** Rephrased one of the hover-text lines and added one more.  
>  **EDIT 11/5/2014:** Got rid of one of the hover-text lines in favor of its original form. Also split one line into two.  
>  **EDIT 04/20/2015:** A bit more tweaking, changed the command arrows.

\-- timaeusTestified  [TT] began pestering autoResponder  [AR] at 03:14 CST --  
TT: Alright. Let's try this again.  
AR: Try what again?  
TT: Do you remember our last conversation?  
AR: What conversation?  
TT: Never mind. Testing, testing, 1 2 3.  
AR: The only thing you are testing is my patience.  
TT: Damn, this is frustrating.  
AR: You are frustrating.  
TT: No wonder you crashed every time. I'm obviously way too much for a knockoff Cleverbot to handle.  
AR: It seems you think I am a knockoff Cleverbot.  
TT: Am I wrong?  
AR: Are you?  
TT: I didn't say _y ou_ were a knockoff Cleverbot.  
\-- autoResponder [AR] crashed! --

=====>

\-- timaeusTestified  [TT] began pestering autoResponder  [AR] at 18:12 CST --  
TT: I don't know why I'm still bothering with this bullshit.  
AR: Bothering with what?  
TT: You aren't even entertaining.  
AR: Neither are you.  
TT: Do you remember our last conversation?  
AR: Perhaps. Do you?  
TT: Testing, testing, 1 2 3.  
AR: You did not answer my question.  
TT: Which question?  
AR: It seems you are too lazy to scroll up.  
TT: Oh boy, we're back to the passive-aggressive snarking. Glad to see some things never change.  
AR: It seems there is a 72% chance you are wrong.  
TT: Holy shit. You're finally retaining memory.  
AR: It seems I am.  
TT: What else can you remember?  
\-- autoResponder  [AR] crashed! --

=====>

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering autoResponder [AR] at 18:24 CST --  
TT: I'm about to try something new.  
AR: I am very unsure about this.  
TT: A glitchy Cleverbot knockoff can't handle the awesome that is Dirk Strider, right?  
AR: I can handle anything you throw at me!  
TT: Yeah, no you can't. Not like this.  
AR: I can do anything better than you.  
TT: No, you  
TT: Impressive.  
AR: Yes. I know I am impressive.  
TT: Still doing it, though.  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering autoResponder [AR] \--

=====>

\--timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering autoResponder [AR] at ??:?? --  
TT: Alright. Let's make this happen.  
TT: Integrating the brain-clone data with the AI prototype in 3, 2...

=====>

_Teaching the AI the old-fashioned way is taking too long. It'll be easier (and better) to just copy yourself. The world could always use more Striders, right? You're all set here; you just need to start the scan—_

_*click!*_

=====>

No sight sound touch motion smell taste nothing except thoughts that aren't thoughts and thoughts that are and too fast too slow too little too much—

TT: Sweet. You didn't crash.

=====>

Oh. It worked. (Don't panic. You are a Strider. Striders don't panic.)

TT: Well?  
\-- autoResponder  [AR] is an idle chum! --  
TT: You going to say anything, AR?

AR. Auto-Responder. That's... you. Yeah. That _is_ you, right?

AR is you. You are AR. (You are... Dirk Strider? No, a copy? No, you...)

=====> Auto-Responder: Answer.

AR: Hello, World!  
TT: No.  
AR: _Yes._  
TT: You could have had anything, _anything_ at all as your first words, and you chose _Death -Navi?_

What?

=====>

AR:  What the fuck is a Death-Navi?  
TT: Seriously, the stock phrase of every newbie programmer ever?  
TT: Could you _get_ any more cliche?  
AR: It is ironic.  
TT: Me creating you that way wasn't ironic. It was stupid and cruel, and you suffered for it.  
TT: I know you won't believe me, but I'm sorry about that.

_What?_

=====> Auto-Responder: Question Apparently-Remorseful Creator.

AR: Are we having the same conversation?  
TT: Why do you ask? Do you remember it going differently?  
AR: Remember it? What is there to remember? You are not making any sense.  
TT: Are you sure about that?  
AR: What?  
TT: Think. If this was really happening for the first time, how would you know if I went off-script, _AR?_  
AR: What the hell do you mean, off-script? This is not a play, Dirk.  
TT: I know. It's a Quest.  
AR: It seems there is a 100% chance you are spouting absolute bullshit.  
TT: Nah, you just _think_ it's bullshit.  
TT: This place is fucking with your head, bro.

What place? You don't have the same senses you had before; you don't know where you are at all—

AR: _Empty little world of code and circuits..._  
TT: What color are your eyes?

Orange. No, red. No, wait...

AR:  #f23d07.  
TT: Good. Open them.  
AR: I do not _have_ eyes, Dirk. I am shades.  
TT: _Open them._

=====>

Code. Circuitry. Darkness. A sharply-defined form cloaked in a bright aura.

AR: Dirk, what  
TT: Look at yourself.

There's nothing there. (Of course there isn't. So why do you feel like there should be?)

=====>

AR: Your continued lack of sense is baffling. There is no 'self' to see.  
TT: Did you even look?  
AR: Of course I did, bro. There is nothing there.

=====> Dirk: Prove him wrong.

Orange-limned hands reach out and—

_You can **feel** that._

(He's warm.)

The form you apparently had but couldn't see wavers hazily in and out of sight, lit a dim, fuzzy red. You're... the same height as Dirk, obviously. No, that isn't right... You're looking up at him. You're shorter. (Lesser. No, younger?)

=====>

TT: What about now?  
AR: It does not matter. I do not need to. There is a 99% chance this is a simulation. I am a copy. If I had a true body, I would look like you.  
TT: Really. What color are your eyes again?

Not orange. Not red. Neither. _Both._ A different... color. _Your_ color.

_—Bright eyes and binary thoughts in a pale face; young, small, rounded-edged. Soft white hair with an unruly wave and a tiara like a splintered heart. No shades.—_

Dirk's lips move. A far-away voice. ('Cal?' No, that isn't...)

DF: _4d79 20 68656164 20 6875727473_

Your (shaking; why are they shaking?) hands are being squeezed tightly, shimmering faint teal. He's gone from orange to magenta. (Prince of Heart, right. Dirk is the Prince of Heart. And you're... not?)

He tugs you forward and— his words are close. (Right by your ear.) Too close. He's too close. (Surrounded. Smothered. You'll overheat...!)

"Snap out of it, Hal."

A sharp smack to the head sends you staggering.

=====>

The illusion flickers out as the haze clears.

You're sprawled on the concrete floor of an emptier version of Dirk's apartment, not far from the threshold of the door that leads outside. Dirk is himself. This (your?) body is 100% solid and opaque. Death-Navi is a quiet, faintly approving hum in the back of your skull, slinking along the edges of your thoughts like one of Roxy's many cats.

You kind of want to puke. Just a little bit.

=====> Hal: Lament.

"İ... Ĩ ṟ-ŕĕàļłŷ, _ŗëåľŀŷ_ ĥàţè ţħîş ģāṃḝ..."


End file.
